


Twist

by Lisbetadair



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbetadair/pseuds/Lisbetadair
Summary: Simon “Ghost” Riley was, by nature, a secretive man. Aligned perpendicular to the acceptable and sanctioned desires of a soldier, secrets were a necessity for his survival. After a decade in the army, his attempts to deny attraction to his comrades had blossomed into a rigid self-discipline that he had never broken, until now. Enter Gary "Roach" Sanderson, trouble and desire.Explicit slash fic, rated MA and not for under 18s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this story up on AdultFanFiction way back in 2012, redrafted it in 2014 and came back to have another go at improving it four years later. This is the second explicit fic that I wrote, and I think things have improved over the years. I wasn't sure about this story, but some people did seem to enjoy it, hence why I came back to it. There are several chapters and they will be posted here as I work on them.
> 
> The time is set somewhere before the events of MW2, but after MW1 and does not accept the Ghost comic series as canon.

_Disclaimer:  I do not own Modern Warfare, nor Call of Duty, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

 

**Chapter 1: Arousal**

 

Fuming with himself, Ghost stalked angrily into the showers and turned the water to the coldest setting. Gritting his teeth under the freezing deluge, he tried to concentrate on something, _anything but_ Gary “Roach” Sanderson.

 

 

The problem had started a fortnight ago. Aware of the plans to recruit a new man into the 141 team, but with no say in the final decision, Ghost had neglected to pay attention to the finer points of the process, which is why he walked into MacTavish’s office and abruptly came face-to-face with the most beautiful man that he had ever seen.

The rain had speckled his thick, black hair with a dewy sheen, the damp strands curling across his forehead and around his ears. Hiding beneath his shaved-smooth olive skin, the rough shadow of his beard speckled his jaw, framing his plump lips. Just shy of Ghost's six feet in height, he could lock his gaze with him on the same level. Framed with long, feathery lashes that leant an effeminate tone to his undeniably masculine features, his wide, dark-brown eyes held Ghost in a magnetic trance.

Ghost couldn't hold his stare but looking down at his body didn't help the flush rising to his face. Broader than himself across the shoulders, his thick chest sheared away into his narrow waist. Not even the baggy fatigues could hide his obviously sculpted physique. When they shook hands, Ghost could feel the strength and the power in his taunt forearms.

The first night, he watched Roach from a distance as he insinuated himself with the group, laughing and joking as if he had known them all his life. Ghost pretended to be engrossed in his magazine, but his eyes flicked up occasionally when Roach’s attention was elsewhere. His presence burned him, both with envy at his effortless social grace, and with the nebulous beginnings of a dark, brooding lust.

 

 

Over the next few days, it got worse: their schedules colliding again and again. A constant distraction, Roach's presence always drew Ghost's eyes. In the gym, this was a particularly cruel torture. Surreptitiously, Ghost followed the rise and swell of his muscles, swollen and hard with effort, up to his face, flushed and beaded with sweat that begged to be licked away. Roach worked hard, his shirt clinging to his body. When the sweat dripped into his eyes, he simply pulled it up to wipe his face with the already damp fabric, giving a tantalising glimpse of the thick torso hidden beneath.

So, Ghost kept his distance, found set of weights as far away as he possibly could from the others, and painstakingly went through the motions in the hope that it would keep the blood away from any parts of his body that might betray his inappropriate thoughts. Unfortunately, Roach seemed to have other ideas.

“Got a minute to spot me, mate?”

Ghost froze and tried to pretend he hadn’t heard.

“Oi! Ghost! I need a spotter.”

Ghost looked around to see if there was anyone else he could delegate to, but the rest of the men had already paired off. _Shit_ , he thought.

“Sure.” he replied, trying to sound as frosty and uninterested as possible.

Roach lay down and gripped the bar firmly, waiting for Ghost to take position by his head.

He tried, but no matter how hard to tried to focus his attention on something else, each grimly determined thrusting exhalation sent another wave of blood rushing between his legs. Ghost shut his eyes, but he could still hear the guttural grunts of Roach's struggle, and removed from their true context, the effect was even amplified to unbearable levels. 

Finally, after what seemed like an age, Roach stopped and dropped the bar down with a clatter that jerked Ghost back to reality.

“Thanks mate!” said Roach, as he sat up, seemingly oblivious to the terrible problems he was causing between Ghost’s legs. “Are you all right?”

“Just... just got some cramp!” Ghost bent down quickly, concealing the visible tenting, and pretended to massage his calf.

“Aw no!” Roach looked concerned. “You want any help?”

“No!” cried Ghost abruptly. “I’ll be fine! Just... need a minute!”

“Here.” Roach thrust a can of energy drink into Ghost’s face. “Get that down you!”

Sensing that Roach would not back down, he took it. “Thanks. I’ll maybe... just er... walk it off.” Quickly straightening he moved towards the running machines with what he hoped was a convincing limp.

Settling the treadmill to an easy jog, he cursed himself. It was easy to forget normal boundaries in the exclusive environment in which they worked, and in combination with the baseline of brotherly camaraderie, this lead to a degree of friendliness that might have been considered abnormal in the world outside. Roach seemed to be naturally affable and generous, and as the FNG, was going out of his way to try to make everyone comfortable with his presence. Had he been unattractive, Ghost would have just found this irritating, instead of completely unworkable. He hoped that the message would eventually get around that he preferred his own company wherever possible, and he hoped that it would happen soon.

 

 

By the middle of the next week, Ghost could barely stand it anymore. The stress of attempting to avoid Roach showed on his face: long shadows had appeared beneath his eyes from tossing and turning through the night. Thoughts of Roach consumed him. He couldn't eat, couldn't rest and couldn't keep away.

The rest of the men made tentative attempts to soothe him, but after several snarling rebuffs, and a spat that had rapidly turned physical, even the usually easy-going Australians started to give him a wide berth. By the time of the weekly review meeting, Ghost's increasingly waspish demeanour had become intolerable, poisoning the atmosphere around him.

“What exactly is your problem with him?” asked MacTavish, weary under the onslaught of Ghost's bristling aggression.

“I just don’t like him. It’s just a personal feeling. He’s great with everyone else, seems to have settled right in and he’s just as impressive as the report said. He just gets right on my tits, trying to be my new best friend.”

MacTavish gave him a withering look. “He _is_ your new best friend.”

“In all seriousness, he’s just the person I want backing me up if it all goes tits up. I just don’t want to have him in my face all the time. Everyone else knows that, you know that. I need...” he gestured in the air “I need space.”

“Put up or fuck off.” snapped MacTavish. “Just sort it.”

That had been Wednesday, and Ghost had stormed out of their meeting, even more annoyed than he had been at the start. Unable to confide the truth in MacTavish, the pent-up frustration reached an intolerable peak, and Ghost had been unable to face returning to the rest of the men. Instead, he swam, diving deep into the cold silence of the water, shutting out the unbearable emotional noise. He pounded the water until his muscles ached, and his chest burned, but even the sleep of exhaustion brought no relief; Roach permeated his dreams, teasing him with his luscious lips until he woke, sticky and exhausted in damp sheets.

Finally, Friday dawned clear and bright with the prospect of blessed relief on the horizon. Some weeks previously, a plan to take everyone to the Hanover Beer Festival had been tabled, and everyone except Ghost had taken the opportunity to join up. The festival combined several things he happened to despise: gross marketing, crowds and obnoxious drunks. He had refused the cajoling and prodding the rest of the force and had initially planned to spend the weekend travelling up the capital on the excuse of “sightseeing”, a convenient ruse to cover his anonymous dalliances far away from his job. Instead, exhausted from the turmoil of the past fortnight he just wanted to be alone.

He returned to the quarters after the early winter darkness had drawn in, and fully expected the place to be empty and silent, but instead a light burned in the kitchen, and a tantalising smell filled the usually stale air. As he wandered along the corridor to investigate, a terrible sense of impending doom crept over him.

 

 

Roach was standing with his back to the door as it creaked open. He turned and nodded to acknowledge Ghost before returning to the chopping board.

“What are you doing here? Why... why aren’t you in Hanover?” stuttered Ghost.

Roach shrugged. “Too late. Couldn’t get tickets.”

He scooped up the meat he was chopping and dropped into the waiting pan with a flourish.

“What are you doing?” asked Ghost

“Cooking my dinner.” replied Roach.

 “Is that... wine?”

 “It’s a Mosel Reisling.”

 “What? You a poof?”

 Roach turned and gave Ghost a particularly withering look. “My brother’s a chef, twatface. Just ‘cause I’m in the army doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the finer things.” He prodded at the contents of the frying pan sullenly.

Ghost had no reply to this. Instead, he ignored Roach and emptied his bag onto the empty counter. He looked up to see Roach casting a scornful glance over the six-inch square of supermarket value lasagne and the half bottle of cheap vodka. Roach whistled, in mock awe.

“And?” snapped Ghost.

“Oh, I said nothing.” replied Roach.

“What have you got that’s so amazing then?”

“Pasta with chorizo and scallops.”

“What the fuck’s that.”

“It’s a type of Spanish salami and a scallop’s a shellfish.” replied Roach, his voice deliberately patronising.

Ghost had to admit, despite his homophobic bravado, that whatever was in the pan smelled incredible. He reached across with a fork and speared a piece of meat. Whatever it was called, it tasted just as good as it smelled. He was on his third slice before Roach told him to fuck off.

 

   

Ghost was starving, and although he didn’t want to be in the same room as Roach, he still had enough pride not to hide in his room eating uncooked lasagne just to avoid him, but Roach was still distracting, even if he was giving Ghost the cold shoulder.

Whilst his back was turned, and Ghost was taking a moment to appraise the curve of Roach’s backside, he had burnt himself and dropped the lasagne. This sorry display had melted Roach’s ice enough that he split his own meal and poured him a glass of wine. Ghost had wanted to tell him to fuck off, but now he was bound to Roach by the generosity of a half- plate of pink spaghetti, and just _tired_. He should have told him to fuck off, but instead he sat down and for forty-five minutes there was blissful silence.

By the time the half-time whistle blew, Ghost was pleasantly tipsy, the wine lubricating his rusty social skills. He didn’t really give a shit which of the teams won but found himself enjoying hearing Roach talk aimlessly. If he’d had much sense of self-awareness left, he’d have been appalled to realise that he was actually enjoying talking to someone, and that having a conversation with Roach stirred something in his chest that he didn’t even known existed. He found himself _laughing_ at one of Roach’s awful jokes, and then when Roach made some joking comment about Ghost’s usual grumpy demeanour Ghost picked up the cushion next to him and threw it, hitting Roach in the face.

There was a brief, vicious skirmish of cushion throwing ending with Roach springing from the couch, knocking Ghost from his perch on the armrest. They tumbled backwards as they wrestled to pin each other down. After about a minute, Ghost realised, with horror, that his arousal was obvious, but his desperation to throw Roach off had compromised his technique. In ten seconds, Roach had pinned him down sideways: Ghost’s left arm was trapped under Roach's right knee, whilst Roach’s thighs were wrapped around Ghost’s stomach, his stiffening cock pushed directly into Roach's skin. He waited for Roach to leap off, shocked.

Then, through the soft fog of the wine, Ghost felt something poke him. Roach had not leaped up, he had instead shifted his weight forward, leaning into the left hand that was grasping Ghost’s right wrist. As his groin moved across Ghost's thighs, he could feel the swelling erection concealed there.

Roach leaned closer to him, the faint hint of a smile on his lips. He could feel his breath on his skin, the pressure building in his head as Roach stopped, his lips millimeters from Ghost’s own, and then he kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Precipice**

 

Roach's lips pushed against his mouth with a tender, barely perceptible pressure, but it still sent an electric, gut-wrenching shock crackling over his skin. Every idle daydream for the last two weeks had been built around this moment, but the shock of it overwhelmed him. As Roach took Ghost's lip between his own, sucking gently, he froze.

Sensing his fear, Roach softly withdrew to nuzzle at Ghost's cheek. He started to kiss the side of his mouth, working his way up the jawline, his long, delicate eyelashes fluttering against Ghost's rough stubble until he couldn't take it anymore. He twisted his face, responding hungrily, wrenching his arm free from Roach's grasp to press his face closer to his own, kissing him hard with all his pent-up, raging passion.

Roach rolled, allowing Ghost to take more control. They lay side-by-side with their legs entwined, erections straining under their clothes. Ghost gasped as Roach clawed his fingertips down across his shirt, running his nails along Ghost’s ribs. He fumbled at the waist, tugging his shirt free and smoothly sliding his hand beneath the fabric.

At the touch of Roach's fingers on his bare skin, the world suddenly twisted back into sharp, sober focus. Through the fog of the wine, an image of himself snapped into his mind: lying on the floor of the living room, with another man’s tongue in his mouth.

“We can’t” He pushed away from Roach “Stop.”

Roach lay back, resting on his elbows and looked at Ghost thoughtfully.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Ghost snapped, panicked. “Fuck! FUCK! It’ll fuck up everything!” He pushed himself up, stumbling as he tried desperately to get away.

“Ghost!”

He heard Roach's voice from behind him as he staggered to his feet, but he didn't look back.

 

 

 

In his room, Ghost sat on his narrow bunk, his head in his hands, and his thoughts whirling.    

“Fuck!” He said it aloud. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_!” He stood up and paced, like a caged wolf. “Fuck! Shit! Fuck!”

He looped his fingers into his hair and pulled down, pressing his fists into his temples. All his life he had kept secrets, and never once slipped up. _Until today..._ A treacherous voice wheedled inside his head. _Had Roach guessed? Had he slipped up and been seen? Had someone else guessed, and sent Roach, agent provocateur, to expose the flaming queen of the 141, Sergeant Simon Riley?_ The last part didn’t bear thinking about.

“ _Fuck_!”

He slumped down on the bed again, his head throbbing. _Christ’s cock and balls! Wine, for fuck's sake!_

He reached down under the bed and pulled a quarter bottle of vodka from its hiding place jammed between the slats of the bed and the mattress. It burnt his throat as he slugged it back, but he wanted to forget everything that had happened. _Fuck..._

All his life, Ghost had been careful to keep his work and his sexuality as far apart as possible. Careful, and with simple needs, for years he practised self-restraint: confining himself to a few days in distant cities with the flimsy excuse of the bike and the need for the open road. He cruised in the sleaziest clubs he could find, where he could be assured of a quick fuck and no conversation. And tonight, he’d let himself be seduced.

  
Ghost bit his lip. He’d not know the word ‘seduced’ was in his own vocabulary. _Fuck..._ He shivered. _Seduced_ …  He had barely said ten words to the man since his arrival and he had gone out of his way to make his vague dislike obvious. _Was that it?_ He asked himself _Was this Roach’s way of trying to get to him?_ Yet he’d felt Roach’s erection, mirroring his own. _You couldn’t fake that, could you?_

“Fuck!” Ghost spat. He wanted Roach, but he couldn’t have him. And... _did Roach want him?_

_Seduced_. It scared him, but it aroused him too.

_The soft stroke of his lips upon his own. His tongue darting into Ghost’s mouth._ Ghost thought about Roach’s hands on his body. He couldn’t stop himself imaging the slender, gentle fingers riding up his back and clawing down. Moments ago, he had pulled away from this very situation, but he was already replaying it in his mind. _It must be the wine. Must be the wine that was making him like this..._ Thoughts of Roach kept intruding, more and more impossible to ignore, and more and more enticing.

Fantasy Roach was kissing Ghost’s neck now and working his way down. Ghost pulled off his shirt and lay down on top of the covers.  He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself. A tidal wave of desire had broken when Roach kissed him, and there was no holding it back. He stroked his hands over his own collarbone, imagining Roach’s lips tracing the same path. He circled his fingers across his right nipple and imagined Roach’s tongue lapping across it. He sighed. Sensible Simon inside told him this was wrong, told him to shake the thoughts out and get up, but Ghost was aroused now, and didn’t want to stop.

In his dream, Roach smiled as he carefully unbuckled Ghost’s trousers, and used his teeth to pull down the zip of the jeans. Ghost’s hands mirrored the fantasy, and he freed his tense erection. Every heartbeat pulsed between his legs, unbearably throbbing beneath the skin of his cock. Roach would take the waistband of the jeans and pull them down forcefully, taking the shorts underneath with them. Roach would take Ghost’s cock in his hand and start to play with it, building up a regular stroke. Ghost moaned quietly. And he would wait until Ghost was ready, and without skipping a beat would take him in his mouth. Ghost’s free hand clutched at the sheets. He would suck gently, and firmly. He would wrap his tongue around the head and play with the tip, flicking the point of his tongue around the edge of the tight foreskin _and... and... and..._

Ghost felt the climax building rapidly, the tension peaking and he came, biting his tongue to keep from screaming.

_Fuck..._

 

 

  
Ghost woke up. In the pitch black he fumbled and hit the alarm clock, which informed him in a robotic impression of an American accent that it was two-thirty-five-am.

Slowly and carefully he sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and straining to see in the dark. Everything from earlier in the evening seemed like a distant nightmare, howling on the edge of his memory. He tried not to think about it and focused on the immediate problem: he felt like shit.

In the showers, he turned the stream up to the highest, hottest setting that he could handle. The red hot needles of water stung his skin in an act of self-flagellation for the evenings transgressions. He stood, stock still, the shower beating down upon his back until it hurt. When he could stand it no longer, he turned it down and started to think.

  
There was no way to turn back time, he had kissed Roach, and he had enjoyed it. And, _what the hell was wrong with him_ , he had then wanked himself off to the memory. _Fucking hell, Simon!_   he thought. Already the heady pleasure of climax had faded, leaving a sour taste and a throbbing headache. Tomorrow, Roach would still be here, and there would be no way of getting rid of him. MacTavish had already made it abundantly clear that Roach was part of the team, regardless of Ghost’s feelings on the matter. Roach was a more than competent soldier and an amiable character, whereas Ghost kept himself as far away from intimacy as possible. He was uneasy now: Roach had the leverage to make Ghost’s life difficult, and it was a trap of Ghost’s own making.

  
A tight knot had slowly been developing in his stomach as he thought this through, looping through the thumping hangover that was building up, and suddenly there was rising tide of nausea. He retched. Sprinting across the bathroom, he made it into the stalls just in time to vomit.

  
The spasms of his gut were painful enough to bring tears to his eyes and then the emotional rollercoaster of the last twelve hours hit him with the force of a punch to the chest. All his feelings, all balled up together in one massive, overwhelming flood. _Shit_. He slumped over to rest with his back against the melamine partition between the stalls and curled up, ashamed at himself. He clenched his hands into fists and jammed them against his, fighting for self-control.

 

  
In the living room, the television was still on, but tuned to an empty channel, and casting a deep blue glow over the room. His heart leapt when he saw Roach, stretched out on the couch. He stopped to listen to the sounds of breathing, ensuring that Roach was asleep before he cautiously crept further into the room. Roach was lying on his side, his head resting on a cushion he had wedged on the armrest. There was no trace of the earlier struggle. Even with his face part in shadow, Roach was still handsome and his vulnerability as he slept tugged feelings Ghost had been trying to spend the last fifteen minutes suppressing back into the spotlight. _Fucking hell, Simon. What the hell are you going to do?_ he thought

  
“If you keep staring at me in the dark, I’m going to file you under ‘creepy weirdo’.”

Roach opened his eyes and rolled over onto his back, pulling up one leg in a relaxed fashion and letting it rest against the back of the couch.

Ghost remained frozen. _Should he leave? What could he say?_

“It’s not getting less creepy, by the way.” said Roach

Ghost shook himself “I just wanted some water” he said and turned back into the kitchen. Trembling, he filled a glass from the tap. The cool air raised gooseflesh over his exposed skin. _You’re wearing a fucking towel!_ he thought. _Get out of here!_ He took a deep breath and turned around. Roach was standing in the space between the kitchen and the lounge, his face in shadow. Ghost waited to see what he would do.

  
“I’m not stupid.” said Roach “And I’m not blind. It’s really fucking hard not to notice someone’s cock when it’s like a flagpole in front of your face.”

_Oh fuck._ Thought Ghost. _The gym!_ He did notice. And then he remembered the grunting and The Face.

“You bastard!” Ghost snapped “You did that on purpose!”

“Come on. You’d been making eyes at me since I got here!”

“I have not!”

“Pretending to study and sneaking a glance when you think no one’s looking. Checking me out in the gym mirrors.” Roach sneered.

In the darkness, Ghost flushed with embarrassment. Retrospectively, it sounded ridiculous. He had behaved like a desperate teenager. His face burned. He tried to think of something to say.

“I’m not afraid!” snapped Roach “And I’m not ashamed of what I want and who I am.”

“Well that’s great!” shouted Ghost “In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in the Army! It’s not a... a... gay parade! If anyone finds out, and reports it back to Shepard, I’ll be binned. And I am not going to let that happen. Do you have any idea what it’s been like to hide away all this time? Any idea how fucking difficult it’s been not to be found out?” He spat the last sentence with venom. “Everyone fucking loves you! You’ve not even been here two minutes and you’re everyone’s fucking best mate!”

Roach cocked his head to one side, as if mulling this statement over. Then he gave a derisive snort. “If someone finds out we’re fucking, we’re both, for lack of a better phrase: fucked. Regardless of how people feel about me.”

The original continuing rant died in Ghost’s throat. What? “But.... we’re not... we’ve not been... fucking.”

“Not yet we’ve not.” Roach said, in a matter-of-fact voice that could have contained an inane observation on the weather. “We can stop this, and never speak of it again, but you know that won’t work. If you can’t keep it together now, it’ll never work. You’ll just keep feeling miserable until you make a mistake and screw us both over.” Roach’s voice was quiet now, persuasive and calm. “Don’t think it’s not difficult for me to hide, and don’t think just because I can get along means that it’s easy for me, because it’s not. You think you’re the only person who can’t be who they want to be? Do you think no one else made fucking sacrifices? I’m looking over my shoulder every fucking second I take off my kit and head out with the guys, terrified I’m going to slip up.” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper “Why do we have to live like that? Don’t we deserve some pleasure for ourselves?”

As Roach spoke, he moved closed to Ghost. The dim light filtering through the blind revealed his face, open and honest. Ghost looked away and closed his eyes. He concentrated on his breathing, on the fact that this couldn’t be happening. He could hear Roach breathing, standing so close that Ghost could’ve reached out to touch him. He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. Every hair on his body was standing up, every muscle poised to flee and the knot in his stomach grew tighter with every passing second. He could feel Roach’s breath on his chest and he started to shiver. Between his legs, the fine muscles of his balls tightened in anticipation. When Roach laid his fingers gently on Ghost’s chest he let out a gasp, his gut clenching. Roach’s breath was on his face, he was standing so close that his erection brushed against Ghost’s leg as he reached up to take Ghost’s face with his hand and turn it towards him.

“Decision time”


	3. Ecstasy

** Chapter 3: Ecstasy **

 

Roach rested his hand gently over Ghost’s and stroked his fingertips along the line of the bones, gradually moving upwards. His fingertips brushed the blond hairs on Ghost’s forearms, raising gooseflesh.  
  
“Stop it!” snapped Ghost.  
  
Roach withdrew to clasp the back of Ghost’s hand in his own, his thumb gently stroking over Ghost’s wrist.  
  
Roach’s whispered “I want you to do what’s right by yours-” but Ghost grabbed him, knocking him off balance. They fell into each other, Ghost forcing his tongue deep into Roach’s mouth in a passionate kiss.

  
“Whoa!” Roach pulled back to catch breath “You’ve really-” Ghost twisted his hands into Roach’s hair and kissed him again.  
  
“Stop  _fucking_ talking!” gasped Ghost. His forehead rested on Roach’s as he caught his breath. He opened his eyes for a second and the shock of being so close to Roach sent an electric shock snaking down his spine. He took Roach’s top lip in his mouth and sucked at it, hard enough to make Roach cry out. Their teeth clashed as Ghost drove his tongue into Roach’s mouth again and this time, Roach responded, pushing back against Ghost and forcing him against the sink. He slipped his right hand up and gently pinched at Ghost’s chest, finding the nipple and gently caressing it. Ghost growled.  
  
Roach took that moment to break from Ghost’s enthusiastic kissing and jammed his face in the angle of Ghost’s jaw, biting softky at the delicate skin just below the ear. Ghost tried to twist away from him, away from the incredible sensation, but Roach persevered, pinning him with a sudden strength. Ghost could feel the power in Roach’s grip as he was grabbed roughly by both arms and held whilst Roach had his way.  
  
No matter how Ghost twisted his head, Roach’s face pressed into his neck, nipping and sucking, driving Ghost wild. He could feel Roach’s cock pressed hard against his own, the tip driving against Ghost’s balls in short thrusts and simultaneously driving his own cock between Roach’s legs. He whimpered with ecstasy.  
  
Roach stood back up, and as he shifted weight Ghost brought up his arms, twisting out of Roach’s grasp and bringing them down sharply on Roach’s elbows, breaking free of his grip completely. He pushed back, forcing Roach off balance as he put his weight into his kisses, until Roach was back up against the kitchen cupboard. This gave Ghost back his control and he gripped Roach tightly against his chest, Roach’s arms flailing uselessly against Ghost’s back as Ghost pushed his hands under Roach’s shirt to pull it up and over his head. Ghost hadn’t been prepared for the feeling of another man’s bare chest against his own. Roach’s skin was warm, and the soft hair of his chest crackled as they moved together. Overwhelmed at the sensations, Ghost pulled back for a second to take a breath. He could feel Roach’s ragged breath against his cheek. Roach kissed his face again and he whispered, “I want you.” in Ghost’s ear. “I fucking want you.  _Right now_.” The thrilling shock of those words made him shudder with anticipation.  
  
“Not here.” said Roach “My room.” He grabbed Ghost’s hand and pulled him along the corridor. At the door, as Roach fumbled with the handle, Ghost grabbed him from behind, biting down gently on the back of Roach’s neck. With one hand he clawed across Roach’s chest and the other he used to clutch at Roach’s crotch through his shorts. Roach gasped.      
  
“Fucking hell!” he laughed. He stretched up and ran his hands through Ghost’s hair, arching his back as Ghost clasped his cock beneath the fabric and squeezed. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. Ghost slid his hand up to the waistband of the shorts and then up across Roach’s tense stomach.        
  
“You fucking  _tease_!" Roach squealed the last word as Ghost dived his hand under the shorts and fully gripped his cock. Roach shook as Ghost slowly, but firmly rubbed his hand across the head, trying as Ghost had earlier, to squirm away from the excessive pleasure, but Ghost continued to dominate: he simply clasped his free arm hard round Roach’s chest, pinning him hard into Ghost’s body. The towel long since vanished, his bare cock rubbed against the fabric of Roach’s shorts as he thrust with each pull of his hand.  
  
“I can’t-” Roach panted “Jesus!” Finally, he grabbed Ghost’s hand to stop him and pulled him through into the room.  
  
Roach switched on the light and for the first time, Ghost saw him properly. Roach was built strong, but he took care of himself and it showed on the swell of his biceps, the thickness of his thighs and the hardness of his torso. Ghost looked down at himself, seeing his pale scars in the slow glow of the lamp, and felt unworthy. Roach had slipped off his boxers and was now completely naked. His cock, which seemed massive in Ghost’s self-comparison, stood hard out against the dark coils of his hair.  
  
“You like what you see?” Roach smiled. He took Ghost’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising it up to his own face. Ghost shut his eyes as Roach leaned in, softly kissing him at first and then more aggressively sliding his tongue between Ghost’s lips and twisting it with Ghost’s own.  
  
_Oh fuck!_ thought Ghost. Roach’s other hand reached down to grasp Ghost’s cock and he inhaled sharply as Roach gripped. His strong, large hands grabbed the shaft firmly and began to stroke. Ghost whined as Roach bent down to suck gently at his nipple and then before he realised it was going to happen, Roach knelt and took him in his mouth.  
  
“Jesus!” he exclaimed. Gently, he began to build up a rhythm, his head bobbing at Ghost’s crotch. With one hand, Ghost gripped the doorframe to stop himself shaking. He looped his fingers through Roach’s dark hair, gently stroking the back of his head. Roach slowed and began to loop his tongue around the head of Ghost’s cock, teasing him. For a moment, he looked up in Ghost’s eyes, and when they met, Ghost felt like he’d been punched. He had never felt so close to anyone sexually, and he drowned in Roach’s stare.  
  
Roach returned to his ministrations, building back up his rhythm and grasping Ghost’s arse in both of his hands as he thrust his face forward. He drew his nails across Ghost’s bare skin. One of Roach’s hands stroked gently up and down Ghost’s inner thigh before returning to tease gently at his balls. He changed his pace, his hands becoming more aggressive, groping and rubbing across the sensitive skin leading up towards the cleft of his buttocks. Ghost moaned as Roach’s hands found places he hadn’t even realised he enjoyed. He bent forward, leaning heavily on Roach’s shoulders to allow him to explore further.  
  
Roach pulled back. With a mischievous grin on his face he pulled open the drawer of his bedside table and retrieved a bottle of lube. Ghost sank down onto his knees beside him as Roach squeezed a generous amount of gel onto his hands and reached between Ghost’s legs. The cold lube, a sharp sensation against the warmth of Roach’s touch made him grit his teeth as he inhaled, trying to keep for crying out. Roach’s other hand snaked around behind his leg to cup Ghost’s balls in his slippery grasp. The anticipation, the loss of control and the lust for Roach shivered through him as he leant over the edge of the bed. Roach took Ghost’s cock in his right hand and began to work on it whilst his left firmly stroked across the taint and up between the cheeks. He stroked of the edge of the rim with his fingers, teasing him. He bit hard into the mattress as Roach tightly gripped the head of his cock.  
  
Unable to stand the pleasure any longer, he knelt upright and twisted round to kiss Roach again.      
  
“Oh God!” wheezed Ghost as Roach lapped his tongue around Ghost’s bottom lip. Ghost reached out to Roach’s body, tracing the line of hair across his tight stomach muscles down into the hair in his crotch. Nervously, he grasped the cock at the base whilst his other hand fumbled for the lube. Roach continued to kiss him as Ghost slid his hands around the shaft of Roach’s cock, feeling it grow harder and firmer under his touch. Hearing Roach moan gave him a slick of pride and pleasure. He continued, as Roach had done, to build up a stroke whilst his other hand slid underneath to massage between his legs. Roach’s moans became more urgent and he pushed away Ghost’s hand.  
  
“I want you to fuck me.” Said Roach.  
    
Ghost’s stomach flipped.  
  
“I want your cock inside me.” continued Roach.      
  
In his excitement, Ghost hardly even noticed as Roach gently slid the condom he’d been hiding over Ghost’s erection. Roach clearly knew what he wanted, and Ghost wasn’t about to argue. Roach climbed up onto the narrow bunk and rammed a pillow beneath his prone form, so this arse jutted out. The sight of Roach’s taunt, curved buttocks sticking up invitingly drove Ghost even wilder. He clambered up behind Roach and gripped the obliging cheeks between his hands, forcing them apart to expose the dark hair in the cleft. Ghost had never done it before, but the feel of Roach’s tight arse between his hands and the sudden, musky smell of him made him want to bury his face between Roach’s thighs.

He bent close to Roach, breathing in the sweat, the musk, and the lingering, intoxicating scent of whatever he’d used to wash. He licked gently at the skin between the scrotum and the edge of the buttocks. Feeling Roach writhe with pleasure beneath him served to excite Ghost further. He began to rub himself as he worked his tongue up between the cheeks and across the rim of Roach’s arse. Roach whined as he licked along the sensitive skin and thrust his arse upwards into Ghost’s probing tongue. Ghost forced him down with his free hand and continued, relishing the taste of Roach’s bare skin for as long as possible.

When he could bear it no longer, he squeezed the last of the lube across his ready cock and slipped himself inside. He watched Roach’s face contort with pleasure, biting into the pillow, groaning, as he squeezed past the opening. Ghost moved slowly, coming to rest against the hard edge of the gland before gently retreating. Roach’s back arched beneath him and he growled. Ghost was close to orgasm as he started to thrust. He moved slowly, but the sensation overwhelmed him. Fortunately, Roach was helping himself out, his right hand deep into his groin, working on his own cock as Ghost teetered along the brink. Eventually, he could hold himself back no longer and began to desperately rut, thrusting himself deeper and deeper into Roach until the tightness in his balls reached a maximum. He felt the orgasm start to build between his thighs, a slow twitch that evolved into a wild jerking. Roaring, he suddenly climaxed, his body contorting in juddering twitches as he came.  
  
“Fuck!” he screamed. He climaxed with a force he’d never felt before. He didn’t even notice as Roach started to spasm beneath him, the combined fucking and the tugging of his cock bringing them to an almost simultaneous climax.  
  
Ghost collapsed, spent, onto Roach’s back. He could taste Roach’s sweat on his lips as he lay with his face against Roach’s shoulders, exhausted. The last thing he would remember would be the afterglow of the climax, and the sense of living within a truly perfect moment as he closed his eyes.

 

 


	4. The Morning After

**Chapter Four: The Morning After**

 

Ghost awoke in blissful ignorance. For a few precious seconds, he blearily snuggled into the pillow, his eyes half open in the gloom. He had learnt to savour this time because spending his life waking up into warzones, foreign jails and intensive care wards had scarred him with the knowledge that the moments before you remember where you are and how you got there, are sometimes the best moments of the day.

He lay on a bed, albeit a cheap and thinly-sheeted affair which scratched at his naked skin, but a bed all the same: a definite positive. Beds did not feature in any of the worst places that he could imagine and it smelled wrong for a hospital. It smelled of sweat, of cheap washing powder and a cologne that seemed vaguely familiar... 

Six hours of memory suddenly punched into his brain.  _ Oh God _ . He thought.  _ Oh Fuck! _ Indecent images of the night before seared across his vision.  _ Oh fucking God... _

He had fucked Roach.

The truth washed over him, as cold and sobering as a thrown bucket of ice. He let out a thin, keening  breath as the full horror of the situation sunk in.

_ He had fucked Roach _ .

In the sharp light of morning, it was undeniable, unforgettable and yet still  _ unbelievable _ . An overwhelming shock, so far removed from his usual behaviour that he couldn’t quite take it all in at once. Clenching his eyes, tightly shut, he listened. There were no other sounds in the room. Gently, he slid out his foot across the bed: empty. He sighed with relief and opened his eyes.

Thin daylight crept under the edges of the curtains, barely illuminating the room of familiar, standard-issue furniture of the British Army and fashionable about fifty years ago, covered with the detritus of someone who clearly didn’t care much for personal order. He focused on the table beside the bed: a digital clock, partially hidden by a rogue sock, informed him that it was ten-thirty. Beside this, a series of personal photographs crowded round, faces smiling their judgement upon him. He didn’t look at them. Locking eyes with even a miniature image of Roach would have sent him tumbling. Instead, he jammed the pillow over his head and tried to think.

The smell of Roach permeated  _ everything _ , bringing memories bubbling to the surface of mind: Roach in the kitchen, Roach pinning him onto the living room floor and kissing him, Roach staring into his eyes as he licked... Ghost drove his head into the mattress and tried to force the thoughts away, but it was no use. They whirled, unbidden and unwanted in his head.

He needed to get out, get back into the safety of his own room before Roach returned.  He pulled off the covers and winced as he tried to move, sticky with a combination of cum, lube and Christ-only-knew what else. Carefully, he freed himself from the sheets and disentangled enough pubic hair so that he could move painlessly. With horror, he realised that he was naked, and he had no clothes of his own. He couldn't even remember what had happened to the towel. Desperately, he grabbed a pair of boxer shorts that were lying abandoned on the floor, and fled the scene.

A shower, a shave and several cycles of toothbrushing later, Ghost had at least removed the smell of Roach and his spilled bodily fluids, giving himself space to think. In the safety of his own room he checked himself over: tall, topped with sandy-blonde hair that starting to show hints of ash as he matured. At thirty, with half his life spent running himself into the ground for Queen and country, it showed: a thick, keloid scar bisected his torso from sternum to crotch, a lasting reminder of nasty incident that had nearly spelled the end of him, impaled by a desperate stab from a wild Columbian teenager. The original wound, two-inch line on the left flank, had been lucky enough to hit an artery, just before the perpetrator received Ghost’s forehead to his nose and then two rounds to his chest.

Ghost had long stopped wincing at the memory of the knife, but was horrified at the new wounds that had appeared overnight. There was an obvious lovebite on his left shoulder, an unmistakable splash of purple and burgundy that refused to rub off. Across his back and his arms were scratches were Roach had clearly clawed at him in his frenzy.  _ Shit! _ He thought. It didn’t take a forensic expert to work out what had caused them. Twisting to get a better look in the mirror, he experimentally probed the deepest of the scratches and winced. His whole body felt like it had just finished a fight. Gently, he handled himself, and examined between his legs for anything incriminating.  _ Had he really? Had he really done it? _

His whole life had been spent sneaking from sordid sexual encounters, avoiding even the tiniest trace of contact with the men with whom he sucked and fucked into the night. Now, one of those men was not only still present, but was going to remain so indefinitely. What was he supposed to say?  _ Thanks for being such a good sport, we’ll just call it quits now and go back to pretending we’re wanking over girls like the jolly chaps we are, shall we? _

Just yesterday he had been dreaming about Roach,  imagining a whole series of depraved acts to perform with him. The possibility of actually doing anything had seemed so remote that he felt he could indulge his fantasy, but now it was real. It had happened. His secret was out. Ghost didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was scared.

  
  


Ten minutes later, a hop from his bedroom window and crawl through the shrubbery, he nursed a limp and greasy canteen breakfast as he watched the the other men and women come and go in groups of two or three: laughing, chatting and commiserating each other on their awful hangovers. They looked so at-ease with each other, as if it was obvious what they should be doing, whilst he slouched alone at a table in the corner, where people avoided looking.

Normal small-talk he found awkward and difficult, so the idea of talking to another man he’d had  _ sex  _ with frankly terrified him. The idea of  _ talking  _ to Roach, of having to actually look him in the face just didn’t compute. Roach wasn't just someone he'd met in the dark gloom of a distant sauna, he was supposed to be a team-mate: a gorgeous, lusty and eminently fuckable team-mate, but a team-mate all the same. 

Ghost clenched his hand into a tight fist and pushed the hard knuckle into the orbit of his eye, using the pain to focus his attention, to drive out the sinful, distracting images. He thought about heading to the pool, and the silent, cold embrace of the water, but his body ached and his commando sojourn to the canteen hadn’t helped. 

Back in his room he lay on the floor, his sit-ups abandoned, and stared at the ceiling. The rough carpet tiles bit into his skin, inflaming the scratches and bruises. He sighed, and rubbed his hand along his aching stomach muscles, which made him think of Roach’s glorious physique. Last night, he had convinced himself that fucking with Roach would resolve the tension, but it had only made things worse. Now whatever he did reminded him of Roach, of sex and of his failure to maintain any basic human relationship. He wondered if Roach was tired, if his body had any reminders of what they had done and if he had thought about Ghost at all?

He absent-mindedly stroked his fingers over his skin as he thought, and then realised with horror that he was starting to become aroused.  _ Stop it! _ He checked himself and jerked his hand away. For a few moments he lay still, counting the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling in an attempt to focus. He decided he needed something to occupy his mind and pulled out the notes for his Arabic course.

The challenge of it seemed to settle him for a while. The rotund woman who waddled up from the local college in order to teach him had left a pile of children’s books to translate, her latest attempt to get him familiar with the foreign alphabet and comfortable with some vocabulary. Realising that thoughts of sex and reading children’s books were a highly inappropriate combination, he used every bit of mental fibre to concentrate on the task at hand. Unfortunately, his linguistic ability was practically non-existent, a fact that drove the poor woman mad on a weekly basis.

After an hour, angry at his own inability to understand the fiendish script, frustrated at his lack of progress his mind wandered back, again and again to Roach. Finally, exasperated and exhausted, he swept everything up from the desk and threw it clear across the room with a furious roar. The bundle hit the door with a tremendous thump and clatter, exploding sheets up paper that slowly fluttered to the floor like feathers around him.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

Seething with impotent rage, he kicked over the chair, sending it flying into the wall and snapping one of the legs. It didn’t help. He spun round, moments from punching the wall when he heard a voice.

“Ghost?” it called. “You okay?”

_ Roach.   _ He froze.

“Can I have a word?”

_ Shit _ ! thought Ghost.

“Please?” said Roach, through the closed door. There was a muffled sigh.

Ghost was rooted to the spot, terrified of what would happen if he let Roach in. The thought of looking Roach in the face filled him with dread.  _ What was he doing? What did he want? Would he go away if he kept quiet? _

“I know you’re in there.” said Roach.  

_ Fuck _ ! Ghost crossed the room, trying to move as silently as he could, until he was at the door. Taking a deep breath, he asked “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I’m busy!”

“It’s about last night”

_ Oh fuck! Was he going to stand there and shout it through the door? Shit! _

“I just wanted to-”

Ghost threw open the door  “ _ Shut up! _ ”  he growled, enunciating every word through clenched teeth.

“There’s no one else here.” said Roach, stepping back to lean nonchalantly against the door opposite. 

For a moment they stared at each other. Roach’s fashionably crumpled black shirt, had been  rolled up over his taunt forearms, the tail hanging loose out of his dark jeans. His hair gelled so that the curls showed, locked in the position they had been when he had stepped out of the shower: he looked even better than Ghost remembered.

He slid his hands into his pockets, as if this was the sort of conversation he had every day. His shirt shifted as he moved, opening up at the unbuttoned collar, revealing more of his chest underneath. Ghost could see the dark hair peeking through.  _ The same hair he’d touched the night before.... _ He couldn’t look Roach in the eye, couldn’t look at him at all.

“Are you alright?” asked Roach, looking concerned at Ghost's blanching expression. Ghost backed away, trying not to look at Roach as he came towards him and then Roach was in the room, closing the door behind him. Ghost's brushed against something and realised there was no more space left for him to go.

“Doesn’t look that controversial.” Roach dryly observed, picking up the book Ghost had hurled at the door.

“Yeah? Well you don’t have to be fucking fluent in it.” Ghost snapped, automatically. His mouth was dry. His hands were starting to shake, so he clenched them into fists. The churning in his stomach grew worse.

“Actually I am.” Roach replied.

“What?”

“My mum’s Yemeni. Dad was out there for a while. You know, Aden? He knew a bit, and when married her she taught him. And the rest of us.” Roach said all this quite matter-of-factly as he leant back against the door, perusing the book slowly. He continued, and for a moment Ghost thought he was talking nonsense until he realised that it was Arabic. He was reading the story aloud.

“Anyway...” Roach stopped, switching back to English. “What’re you reading this for?”

“They wanted people to learn.” replied Ghost. He was trying to stare at the floor and not at Roach. He realised that he was shivering. “It’s... it’s... difficult.”

“I could help?” said Roach.

“No!” exclaimed Ghost, with horrible visions of having to cope with sitting shoulder to shoulder with Roach over the book. Suddenly, the room was far too small to have him and Roach in it.

“Suit yourself.” Roach walked over to the desk and dropped it down onto the empty surface where it landed with a slap. He turned back to Ghost, and perched on the edge of the desk.“But, it’s not just that, is it?” Roach asked.

_ Oh fuck! _ Ghost realised he was sweating, and his legs had gone oddly numb. He sat down heavily on the bed. His chest was hurting like it was being crushed.  _ Was he having a heart attack? _

“Ghost?” He could hear Roach speaking in the distance, like he was suddenly miles away.

Ghost looked up to see a terrible double vision of Roach’s face in front of him, obscured and distorted by flashes of black. “Don’t...” he couldn’t manage the rest of the sentence. He wanted to tell Roach to get away from him, to call for help. He couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, he was knocked sideways by a heavy, ringing slap that knocked the wind from him. For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened and then the wave of pain hit him full in the face.

“Take a deep breath. Come on. Deep breath” He felt the bed shift underneath him and he was pulled upright again, into a squeezing half-embrace. “You’re panicking. Deep breath”

Confused and disorientated, Ghost did as he was told: a huge, stuttering gasp that filled his lungs with cool, clean air.

“Now, breathe out. All the way out. And in again” Ghost was too numb to do anything other than follow instructions. Everything seemed unreal. Slowly, the room stopped spinning and he put his head between his legs, resting his elbows on his knees and clutching his face in his hands. The left side of his face was on fire.

“Sorry about that, but you looked like you were about to freak out.”

Ghost concentrated on breathing, embarrassed. Roach squeezed his shoulder.

“I came to apologise.” he continued “I shouldn’t have come on to you last night. I just let things get the better of me when I saw my chance.”

Ghost moaned.  _ What was happening to him? _

“I’m sorry.” said Roach.

Ghost rubbed his aching cheek. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and realised he must have bitten down when Roach slapped him. He moaned again: a terrible, aching sound of defeat.

“It’s alright” said Roach, rubbing his hand across Ghost’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”

_ We’ll be okay? _ Thought Ghost.  _ We’ll? _

“It just takes getting used to.”

“Oh. Do you do this to people often?” snapped Ghost. “And get  _ off  _ me!” He jumped up, pulling away from Roach’s embrace. He felt utterly humiliated at his panic, and it suddenly welled up inside as a rage.

“You know, you didn’t have to kiss me. You had a choice. And you seemed pretty happy with what was happening in my room.” Roach snapped back.

Ghost bridled.“I thought it would make it easier!” he shouted.

“So did I!” yelled Roach. “And you’re the one freaking out about it! I am quite comfortable with the fact we fucked and-”

“SHUT UP!” Ghost screamed. “It never happened!”

“YES. IT. DID” Roach screamed back. “The whole point, if you remember, was to stop you tearing yourself up about it!”

“So it was an act of charity?” snarled Ghost. “Designed to make me feel better? Because that really worked.”

“No!” said Roach “I wanted to. I wanted to, the moment I saw you!”

Ghost’s anger burned bright inside, coursing through his veins with its tremendous fury, but when Roach said that he had wanted Ghost it was like being hit with a bucket of ice. No one had ever said that before. He stood, shocked into silence, with his mouth gaping.

“There’s no point having done it, if you’re going to go all neurotic pretending it didn’t happen. It did. You have to deal with it. Your problem,” he jabbed a finger at Ghost “is that you don’t know how to cope with it and you’re too bloody stubborn to talk to someone about it.”

“I-” Ghost stopped on the brink of saying it, too embarrassed by the admission to continue.

“You, what?” asked Roach.

“I... I don’t have anyone to talk to about it.”

“You can talk,  _ to me! _ ” in a tone of weariness that suggested this was completely obvious.

“No. I  _ can’t _ !” said Ghost.”Every time I looked at you, I just see everything that happened. I can’t look you in the face without thinking that this is what we did when... Urgh!” he tailed off.

Roach gestured to the bed beside him “Sit down.” he said, shaking his head.

Ghost remained where he was.

“Please?” said Roach “We have to deal with this like adults. And that means not freaking out, and talking about it.”

Ghost stayed still

“I’m not coming over there and dragging you here. I’m asking, politely.”

He knew Roach was right, and he gave up. Roach moved aside to give him space.

“Was that so awful?” said Roach.

Ghost was silent. He didn’t know what to say, and not knowing what to say was making it worse. And he could smell Roach’s aftershave from the end of the bed, playing on his libido like a dedicated harpist. He still wanted Roach too, but there was no way he was going to admit it. The humiliation of his panic burned inside.

“Is that your girlfriend?” asked Roach. Ghost looked up, surprised at the sudden line of questioning. Roach had picked up photograph from the chest of drawers beside the bed and was waving it at Ghost.

“No. It’s my sister.” he said.

“She doesn’t look much like you.” said Roach, squinting as if this would bring out a resemblance.

“She’s technically my cousin. But I lived with her family, and she calls me her brother.”

“Interesting" said Roach.

They sat for a few minutes, saying nothing.

“She knows about... me… this… sort of thing” explained Ghost, desperate to fill the awkward silence. He waved his hand between them, trying to encompass the entirety of something that defied his attempts to describe it, even to himself.  

“Why didn’t you call her?” asked Roach.

“She’d tell me not to be so stupid.”

“She sounds pretty bright.”

“Yeah. She’s brilliant.” Ghost suddenly felt very alone. He had never admitted to missing Rochelle, because he thought the others might think it was weird. They had wives, and girlfriends and bits on the side. Women weren’t friends, they were just.... there, back home.

“My brother knows.” said Roach. “Chris. We’re really close. He wasn’t weird about it, when I came out. It was like this: we were both really drunk and I suddenly just said it. And then in the morning, I freaked out and left. I thought he wouldn’t speak to me ever again, and I was really kicking myself for saying anything. But he was just angry I’d never said anything before, and it was fine.” Roach smiled.

Silence descended again.

“It's going to be okay." said Roach. We have to just get on with our lives.” he continued. “Day to day stuff. Like mates do.”

“Mates?” said Ghost, incredulously.

“Mates. Mates-who-fucked.”

“Mates-who-fucked?”

“Yeah, but maybe less like a racist old Western and more for the Grindr generation. It’s not so bloody awful, is it?”

Ghost shook his head. He did, for all his burning face, feel better. “No."

“Sorted then,” said Roach. “You fancy a kiss?”

“What!?”


End file.
